Meryl Sawyer - Death's Door

“She was your best friend. Right? Don’t girls discuss stuff like this?” He knew damn well they did. He was pretty sure now that Madison was hiding something. From the first, he’d been positive she hadn’t killed Erin Wycoff, but now he wondered if she knew more about the murder than she was admitting.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t working on this case. The department could have requested to have him removed from disability leave now that his doctor had approved his return to the force, but they hadn’t. He was working for his father and needed to complete this job.

“Women do talk,” she told him in a low voice charged with emotion. “But at the time Erin and Rob called it quits, my husband had just left me. I had all I could deal with.”

“Wouldn’t that have brought you closer to your friend?”

“It did. Erin listened to me whine big-time, but she didn’t talk much about herself. It was several weeks before I came out of my fog of self-pity and noticed Rob wasn’t around. Erin didn’t want to discuss it.”

“I see,” he said, although he didn’t. He didn’t have any sisters, and his mother had left them and moved to California when he was seven. His experience with women amounted to sex and not much more.

“You see, Erin was a secretive person. Always.” She’d turned to face him as she explained. “Our mothers met when they were pregnant. I’ve always…known Erin…forever. We were like sisters, but even as a child she kept things to herself. I didn’t find it unusual that Erin didn’t want to talk about Rob.”

The earnest note in her voice told him this was the truth, as she saw it. One thing he’d learned as a detective was the truth often depended on your perspective. “She never mentioned the property she left you.”

“Erin believed her parents left her a worthless chunk of property. She never told me it had become valuable or that anyone was interested in buying it.”

“She must have mentioned the chimp place—”

“Save the Chimps in Fort Pierce. No, she didn’t, but Erin volunteered at a shelter for homeless animals. She probably found out about it there and discussed it with them.”

They pulled into the ferry line for Fisher Island. Aspen had hopped up onto the backseat, and Paul rolled down the rear window so the dog could stick his head out and sniff the breeze while the ferry made the short crossing to the island.

The guard recognized Madison and waved them onto the ferry used exclusively by Fisher Island residents. Personally, Paul thought the whole private-island bit was a pain in the ass. It was a hassle to get on and off the place. While guards helped protect residents’ privacy, it wasn’t a guarantee they were safe. He’d easily gotten onto the island. He could have had a fake police ID and been admitted.

It was almost noon and there were only a few other cars on the small ferry. Neither of them said anything on the short trip. They drove up to the Italian villa where Madison was staying. Madison jumped out and opened the door for Aspen. It seemed to take the dog a split second longer than necessary to jump down.

Paul got out of the car, asking, “Did the vet say Aspen has some sort of a vision problem, not just an eye infection?”

Madison’s eyes became sharper, more focused. “No, but his infection wasn’t treated early enough. He has some vision loss, but he’s okay now. Aren’t you, boy?”

The dog nuzzled Madison’s hand. Again, Paul thought there was more to the connection between them than Madison wanted to reveal.

Inside the house, Madison went right to what he assumed was the bedroom she was using. Waiting in the entry with Aspen, he stroked the dog’s smooth head and looked into his eyes. “Trouble seeing, huh?”

The dog poked at his hand with his nose. His eyes appeared a little cloudy, as if he had the beginnings of cataracts. He knew dogs could develop cataracts like humans, but Aspen seemed too young.

“Here it is,” said Madison, returning to the entry.

Paul took it from her and pulled the certificate out of the envelope. He scanned the document. It immediately raised a red flag. “Someone sold a purebred dog for twenty-five dollars?”

“I guess. Erin told me a woman couldn’t keep her dog. I assumed she just wanted to find it a good home, then I discovered this bill of sale.”

“What did Erin say exactly?”

Madison silently regarded him for a moment, seeming to weigh her words. “I’m not sure. We were in a club. The music was really loud. She just mentioned the dog. I didn’t ask a lot of questions because of the noise.”

“You didn’t discuss it later when you came back to her house and had pizza?”

“No. She knew I wanted a dog. I’ve always wanted one but Mom was allergic to them, then I married a man who didn’t want animals of any kind.” She shrugged as if her ex-husband didn’t matter, but Paul sensed this was still an open wound. Words were pouring out of her too rapidly, which made him think again that she was concealing something.

“We started to talk about the houses I had seen with the Realtor. I forgot all about the dog until I was on the way home. I figured I’d call Erin about it the next day. My first priority was to find a house where I could keep a pet.” She waved a hand at the elegant living room beyond the foyer. “The owners will return soon and I need my own place.”

It sounded true, but something about the dog situation continued to bother him. He scanned the certificate again. It looked legit but you never knew these days. A lot could be duplicated using a scanner and a computer. Counterfeiters had been so successful at replicating United States currency that the Treasury Department had created new bills just to make it more difficult.

“This says Aspen was born Rudolph Vontreben of Sunnyvale. I guess Sunnyvale is the breeder.” He looked at Madison.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t really know.”

There it was again, the disturbing note in her voice. What was going on? “Don’t you want to find your friend’s killer?”

“Of course I do!” she cried, then took a deep breath. “I just don’t think the woman—”

“What makes you think it was a woman?” He wanted her to repeat what she’d told him earlier. Something wasn’t right here.

“I told you. At the club Erin mentioned a woman who couldn’t keep her dog. I assume Aspen was that dog.”

“But you don’t know for sure.”

“Well, no. I…ah—”

“It’s possible this—” he glanced at the paper again “—L. Morgan used the dog as a ploy and followed her home.”

“It’s possible,” she conceded in a voice pitched low.

“I’ll take this to Burgess and let him run down the dog’s owner.” He reminded himself this wasn’t his case. His agenda was entirely different.

“What about meeting Wyatt Holbrook?” he asked, and immediately saw the change of subject caught her off guard.

“Not until I talk to my mother,” she shot back.

“A life hangs in the balance,” he reminded her. He was betting a woman who had a soft heart for a dog was someone who would respond to an emotional plea. “He’s a lot like Erin, from what you’ve told me,” Paul said, making this up as he went. “He helps others even when the benefits to him aren’t observable. We could go over there tonight. He only lives in Palm Beach. You could see for yourself.”

“I’m busy tonight. I have to help Rob Matthews sort through Erin’s things.”

The faint note of irritation in her voice mushroomed into anger so powerful that it must have been festering since the first time he’d told her about her real father. “This man isn’t interested in me. He’s just—”

“True, Wyatt Holbrook wants to live, but he’s a generous philanthropist. He’s given millions to worthy causes.”